


Cal of Duty Warlogs

by Xampz



Series: Warlogs [1]
Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21738349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xampz/pseuds/Xampz
Summary: Sgt. Robert Turner is a World War I veteran who now serves in World War II. He's a communications specialist, analizying allied letters to identify possible secret messages... Meaning he reads about other people and gives his sad remarks on them.
Series: Warlogs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566781





	1. Sgt. Robert Turner, 1945

“Here they are!” Shouted Edward, “Two hundred more, the way we all like!” He then proceeded to put down the box of letters.

I limped forward, holding my weight on my cane while I grabbed the first letter. It was written in russian and it read _Dearest Natasha. They loaded us in the trains last night…_ ‘Natasha, huh?’ I thought to myself. “Hey Ed.” I called him. “So we’re receiving communist love letters now?”

“Yeah, Sarge, get used to it. The Lieutenant sent a bunch of letters from all over the place. You’ll find letters from the Polish there if you search enough. We’ll have a lot of work this next few days.” I hated when Edward called me Sarge. He was one as well.

“War is almost over in the pacific, and the Soviets won over in Berlin. Why is this letter from two years ago? Natasha will be worried.” Said I, with half a smile.

“Well she can kiss my ass. These letters were intercepted by the italians, our Lieutenant got them back yesterday before the italians burned them.” Ed seemed annoyed with the amount of letters.

I limped back to the table and sat on the chair. The one-eyed Corporal Jamie helped Ed carry the box to our table, and we started to share the letters. We were all broken men, defeated by the wars we fought. I lost my right leg back in 1918, during a battle in Africa. I was a Corporal back then, and was only 20 years old. 27 years later and I can still feel my ghostly leg itch.

“Hey, Sergeant Turner.” Said Cpl. Jamie, interrupting my nostalgic thoughts.

“You call me Robert. Here we don’t need ranks.” We really didn’t. “What is it?”

“I got about 40 letters for each, do you want all from the same few people?”

“Yes, thank you.” They gave the lamest job for the lamest people.

Jamie lost an eye in the battle of Normandy, and I said he got lucky. He got promoted to Corporal and was transferred to our “squadron” of old smelly dudes reading even smelier papers. We had to read carefully and check if there wasn’t any secret messages or if the letters weren’t from the enemies. Pathetic job. Edward was there only because of bad behavior. He punched a commander during a suicidal mission here in Italy. He got diminished to letter-reader. Jamie just joined yesterday, but Ed and I have been working for the past three years on this shit job. And I enjoy it. Numerous times I was asked if I wanted to return to my home in Maine, but I refused. Despite criticizing this job, I actually enjoy a lot reading unknown letters. It makes me feel alive again. It’s better than the 20 years I spent on my home being served by hearthless bitches while my ghost leg itched.

“Good night to you, I’ll be in my cabin.” Ed said, irritated.

“Good dreams, grumpy.” I told him, and Jamie laughed. Ed just closed the door and probably started his work.

“You got the job right?” I asked Jamie. We explained to him yesterday, he was a smart kid. He could have a regular life if it wasn’t for this damned war.

I, then, lit a cigarrete and started with the earliest letter I could find.

_August 9, 1942.  
Camp Toccoa, Georgia.  
Pvt. Martin_

_More long marches tomorrow. Then obstacles with Foley and weapon training with Moody. Everyone is dead tired. Another guy got RTU yesterday. He begged the Sgt. to let him stay. My unit, the 506th paratrooper regiment is an all volunteer unit, I’m lucky to serve with these guys. There’s no one I’d rather have watching my back. Our officers drill us continuosly. I’ve trained for months and I haven’t even jumped out of an airplane yet. The army has never had an airborned unit before, and that makes the brass nervous, and what makes the brass nervous makes us drill harder. Our obstacle course began with Cpt. Foley…_

I stopped. ‘This is from 42? I could have sworn I have seen an earlier letter.’ I skimmed the rest of the letter to find just a boring training routine, and rearranged the other ones to get the right order. I didn’t want to read anything out of order, silly me. The actual earliest one was from a British guy:

_Somewhere over the English Channel  
September 2, 1941  
No. 90 Squadron  
Sgt .James Doyle_

_Our target for today is an industrial complex inland from Rotterdam. We're holed up again in this damn yank rattletrap the RAF likes to call Fortress I. Give me the good old Lancaster any day. Although, I must say, these B-17's can take a hell of a beating and are armed with enough .50 caliber machine guns to repel the entire Luftwaffe. I just hope we never have to put that to the test. I still don't see the wisdom in it. Flying so high that we can barely see our targets (much so that we miss half the time) through enemy territory... IN broad daylight! Sheer folly I say. Even the fighters want to escort us much farther than Dover. Jerry always has lots of ME-109s ready to greet us. I am still amazed that after 22 missions, I am still in one piece. A good bit of luck I say, I hope it lasts…_

Sgt. Doyle, huh? This seems interesting. He’s a bit too British for my taste. The next entry is also from him, and apparently it was from the same day.

_September 2, 1941  
Sgt. James Doyle_

_I think we hit the target. Unfortunately we couldn't hold the plane together long enough to confirm. I wonder if any of the others survived. A bloody waste. Apparently I am still alive. Luckily this was the one time I decided to wear my parachute. It's dark now and I am not sure where I have landed... somewhere in Holland. I will most likely be captured before morning. For me, as they say, the war is over..._

‘Apparently it wasn’t.’ I said as I grabbed the next letter, realizing it was from the same guy.

_September 2, 1941._  
_Somewhere in Holland._  
_Sgt. James Doyle._

_I said I was lucky, but now I’m not sure. Maj. Ingram from SAS (Special Air Services) and his squad of the Dutch Resistance found me stuck in a tree. They rescued me and I grabbed the MP40 from Jerries they killed so I could help them. They were on a mission to blow a Train Bridge, and I would do anything to help. Having served for a couple of years before becoming a bomber, I had some experience with ground combat, which helped me a lot. We managed to take control of a farmhouse near the bridge and stealthily get close to it. Unfortunately a soldier I had known only as Van Dyke died, and he was carrying the explosives we would plant in the bridge. Bloody Karma. I had to do that myself, couldn’t just neglect an order from the Major. Fortunately everything occurred as planned, and just as the train was passing through, we blew that damned bridge. After some more fighting, we finally got away from the location, and Maj. Ingram liked my skills and asked if I wanted to join SAS later… I can’t tell if I’m really lucky or really unlucky._

“Hahaha” I laughed as I read the last line. “Good work, Sgt. Doyle. You’ve kept me entertained. Let’s see what else we have in here.” I said, putting away my cigarette and grabbing the next letter.


	2. Pvt. Alexei Ivanovich Voronin, 1942

_Stalingrad, U.S.S.R.  
September 18, 1942  
Pvt. Alexei Ivanovich Voronin_

_I did not believe I was going to survive this day. We crossed the river under fire, many of my comrades died before my eyes. After we got into land, they handed in the equipments, a Mosin-Nagant for one, a clip of five rounds for the next. I did not get the rifle. At first it really did seem suicidal. I run all around following Sgt. Borodin and trying not to be killed, somehow I am here, writing this letter. Sgt. Borodin said that I must be really lucky or my head must be really small, and I must agree with him._

_When we got close to the Red Square, we received massive suppressing fire. Any Soviet man who tried to flee bakcwards was shot insight by Maj. Zubov. But I was no coward. I managed to grab a Mosin-Nagant from the ground on the corpse of one of my fallen comrades, and started firing back. My aim was really good, even though the Rifle did not have a scope, I could hit the enemies several meters away. The Motherland gives birth to the finest snipers of all. After getting through some buildings, I found a proper sniper, so I started taking out their MG42s. My comrades advanced and we started taking ground slowly._

_We finally found Maj. Zubov again, and reached a Train Station in a strategic point. We were ordered to take it back and secure it. Around my neck I had my Scoped Mosin-Nagant, and in my arms I held a PPSh-41, my preferred Soviet Machine Gun. After assaulting the nearby buildings, I switched to my Rifle so I could take out the MG42s that were once again holding my comrades. The spots were being taken one by one. I ran to the last spot on the MG42s and used it, with my comrade Sgt. Makarov helping with the reloads. After many minutes, the remaining fascists ran away and we took the Train Station, and we have been helding it for a few days, but soon we will move up through the sewers._

I finished reading the letter, then left it in the table, getting ready to grab another one. Jamie was passing by and looked at the letter.

“You know Russian?” Asked him.

“Well, I am a communications specialist. Plus you have a lot of time to learn when you don’t have better things to do.” I said, pointing to my missing leg.

Jamie was visibly uncomfortable.

“It’s ok Jamie. I learned many things, including how to read British.” Jamie laughed. “Now, if you excuse me.”

“Of course Sarge!”

“Call me Robert.”

After Jamie left, I got the next letter, and to my surprise it was from “Junior Sergeant” Alexei Ivanovich Voronin. He was promoted to the russian equivalent of Corporal.

_Stalingrad, U.S.S.R._   
_November 9, 1942_   
_Cpl. Voronin_

_I got promoted one rank in service due to my sniper skills, they said, and Maj. Zubov congratulated me. I was really proud to serve the Motherland as I could. I believe he wanted that after seeing what I did at the Train Station, but I will not ask him about it. Our job, this time, was cross the streets to a strategic four-store building where me and the other snipers could disable their troops more efficiently. On our way we would meet with Sgt. Pavlov and his group, which would help us. We took a shortcut into the sewers, which would lead a block away from the house. I went along a path on my own. The fascists were patroling on the sewers too, but they were not expecting my quick and aggressive action. I used my PPSh-41 during the whole travelling, afraid that my Mosin-Nagant would get even dirtier._

_When we met Sgt. Pavlov, he was almost ready to engage. Since he knew of my abilities as a sniper, he told me to eliminate any enemy snipers far away in the house so we could storm it. He told Pvt. Kovalenko to run and draw fire so I could do my job. The brave comrade ran as if his life depended on it, but thanks to me, it did not. We eventually got closer and I asked for three of my comrades to flank the house from the left, where I saw a door, so we could take it. And so we did. We managed to capture the house in just a few minutes, with most of their MG42 operators having already been downed by me._

_After that, however, we received information that the house was going to be heavily assaulted by german forces. They were not going to let us take that strategic point so easily. For many hours we fought, consuming every bullent from the MG42s they were using and all of my Rifle ones too. Then we focused on the fighting inside the house. I, Sgt. Pavlov and the other remaining comrades managed to keep hidden in blind spots from the door, shooting every enemy that appeared from our position. Eventually they would throw grenades, but we would quickly kick them back at the fascists. I had never been so happy to hear tanks before. They arrived and expelled the last remaining enemy forces. By securing this point, we finally can put an end to Stalingrad’s stand._

“Wow!” I let out, after finishing the letter. “I’ve read many letters about the battle of Stalingrad, but they weren’t as in depth as this one. Hey Ed!” I called him, as I saw he getting out of his cabin to get a can of beans. It had been just a couple of hours since we started work, and I was starting to get hungry too. “Give me a bowl of those beans, share them with a comrade.”

“Psst. You’re reading the Soviets letters again, aren’t you?” He responded.

“You know me. Now get here and let’s eat before I start calling you comrade Ed.”

“Shut up.”


	3. Pvt. Yuri Petrenko and Sgt. James Doyle, 1943

“I couldn’t sleep well,” Ed said, as he opened the door from his cabin. “Those soldiers in Normandy were practically sent to their deaths.”

I agreed with him. He was a brute sometimes, but I knew he had a soft heart. “The same with the Soviets in Stalingrad.” Ed didn’t comment. He didn’t like the communists that much, that for sure.

After we had breakfast, I limped to my table, lit another cigarette and went back to the Soviet side of the war, since this letter was from one of them as well.

_Cherkasskoye, July 4, 1943  
Dearest Natasha,_

_They loaded us in the trains late last night. The only thing the Commissars would tell us is that we were going to the front where we would serve our motherland with unfailing bravery... pretty words. Vassili says that the fascists are planning some major offensive at Kursk. Sgt. Antonov believes it is their last desperate attempt to maintain a foothold. Whatever happens, I don't expect it to be pleasant. Most of the men are afraid as they have never even seen combat. The only ones who don't show fear are Vassili and Sgt. Antonov. They both served in Stalingrad, though they don't seem to like talking about it. If we all stick close to them, we just may make it through alive._

_Yuri._

‘That is the love letter then…’ I thought to myself. It was a bit less exciting than I expected. I thought it would be a happy story about a guy surviving the war, but I guess not. There was some sort of attachment to this letter, with a few more lines, it seemed to be a second letter, this written for anyone who could get to it.

_It was my first battle, in the Trenches. We had not experienced the war at this point, and were specially recruited for the defense of Kursk. I had some experience shooting, and could work my way around these modern weapons, but I knew it would be much more difficult and my chances of survival were minimal. After our victory in Stalingrad, we continued to drive back the fascists onto their own home. Kursk would be very important to avoid any enemy armies from starting to retake ground. But first we had to get there. I was afraid, lonely and even angry, but once I stepped into the battlefield, the flame of the Motherland ignited inside me, even though I was known as a coward. There was no braver man than me at that time. Together with some of my army comrades, we cleaned the trenches, eliminating any and every fascist we found in our way. When the last one was slain, Sgt. Frolov congratulated us, and directed our next objective: To take the town of Ponyri, and then move using the tanks to Kursk._

There were more smashed sheets of paper.

_We got to Ponyi through the train station, and from there we took the whole town. Starting from the outskirts to the more crowded part. The battle there was frenetic. There were not many hiding places, only a bunch of cover broken walls that we had to protect ourselves. At the beginning of the invasion, still at the train station, we used the cover of our tanks to eliminate the fascists. An enemy tank also appeared, which almost made me piss my pants, but I took it upon myself to destroy it, which I did using a Panzerfaust anti-tank weapons from one of my fallen comrades. After taking the last control building, a big shed, we regrouped and finally could rest. It would not take long, however, since we needed to move on to Kursk, as time was getting shorter. This time we would ride tanks since there was a shortage of tank crew members._

There were three more attached to the same letter, and I kept reading. I didn’t even know how much time had passed.

_The tank me and my crew drove was a T-34, and we wiped out most of German’s Tigers with them. At first I had to control the cannon, and I exploded some fascist tanks, but my aim wasn’t the best, so I switched to controlling the movement with comrade Korolov after some time. I drove well, had done special training before going to war, specifically to drive and control the T-34s. The city was infested with fascists, most of them on foot, which were easily eliminated. Their Tigers tried to ambush us a few times, but it was all in vain. They were losing ground and they knew it, the fascists were getting desperate. Soon enough we successfully defended our objective. Sgt. Antonov liked mine and some of my comrades’ services, then asked to help retake another important city. Since we had just ended the conquest of Kursk, we required a few days to rest, which he allowed._

_Thankfully the 5 th Guards Tank Amry was reinforced and I was able to rejoin my comrades on the ground. I feel better free than closed in a metal box like that. We planned the same type of invasion in Kharkov than we did in Ponyri, but it was going to be a lot more difficult since the city was much larger. My comrades all prefer to fight in open fields like Ponyri, but I disagree. Closed city warfare is where I excel, even using the fascists’ shitty MP40s. We had the support of our T-34 tanks to help us retake the city, but there were a lot of anti-tank artillery throughout the city. Me and comrade Korolov guided the air strike assault, that had finally arrived, to take out that dirty artillery. Eventually we regroup at the station, after clearing most of the city._

_The final wave of attacks in Kharkov was a very problematic one. The enemy had air strike directed to us, Tiger tanks and MG42s locked in place. We concentrated all our forces on that one part of the train station, firing back with all we had. The air strike noises made my ears bleed because they were too close, but that wouldn’t be the only time I would bleed. I got shot in the leg by a MG42. Fortunately they stopped firing since they thought I died. I was able to crouch behind some cover, and used the morphine I had to numb the pain. I kept shooting until they were all gone, then started treating my wound. The camp doctor said I nearly lost a leg, and I am very glad I didn’t. Pain was nearly unbearable, but now that I am out of the war, I can say I did my part. Let’s just hope that the rest of my comrades do theirs._

_Pvt. Yuri Petrenko_

After reading I stopped and started staring at the wall. If I still had my right leg, I would be at a different place. I would be fully enjoying my retirement, or I would be dead, since the war was not yet over when I left after Belleau Wood. ‘No use mourning over lost things’, thought I, as I grabbed the next letter. Sgt. Doyle again, and the tone was a bit different from the previous letters.

 _Capo Murro di Porco, Italy_  
July 12, 1943  
Sgt. _James Doyle_

_In memory of Luyties, Moditch, Denny, Hoover and Higgs._

_I was praised a lot by Maj. Ingram before the mission. And what a terrible mission. We were supposed to destroy German artillery guns on a fort near a lighthouse on Porco. We divided into two groups, one lead by Maj. Ingram who would give covering fire and the second, which lead by me, would infiltrate the facility and locate the guns. I’ll never forget their faces._

_We arrived by boat at the base of the mountain which held the lighthouse. Maj. Ingram explained that we would blow it up in order to draw their attention from the fort. We started taking up the road to the lighthouse after getting a vehicle from some Jerries stationed at the base of the mountain. We all had Sten machine guns with silencers, which facilitated our approach. After we got into a bri of confrontation with the Jerries inside the lighthouse, we set the charges and blew it up. Everything worked as planned until now. They swarmed out of the fort, allowing us to enter. But it was then when the problems starte. The place was very well guarded, even with most of the out of the fort. And it seemed like a maze. The two team strategy quickly fell apart, as Maj. Ingram’s team was forced to advance with the rest of us. Fortunately we found the bloody guns. But we were taking too long. We had to find a vehicle to escape. Maj. Ingram shared a small motor bike for two, while all the others went into a kubelwagen, a German truck. When we escaped, I was so relieved. The rest of the team lead the way, while me and Maj. Ingram followed. But we didn’t see it the blockade the Jerries had set. The truck went right into it, and it was blown to bits. All of them died. The Major was quick on the reflexes and turned the bike away from it._

_Our escape was desperate. The Jerries were pursuing us in the middle of the town, not even caring about possible civilians. We eventually had to get off the bike and continue on foot. Our extraction point was at the beach, where Pvt. Higgs would be waiting with the boat. Poor lad. Right as we went through the rest of the city, as stealthly as possible, after getting through a bunker full of Jerry, Higgs boat was hit with a Panzerfaust. We had no option other than to escape. We couldn’t die after all the losses. We stole a German boat patrol stationed at the beach, and while Maj. Ingram drove I fired the automatic cannon on the boat to ensure our escape. I don’t think more than ten minutes passed after that, but it seemed like hours. But it was done. We could finally detonate the artillery guns. And mourn our dead._

“Everyone has to mourn their dead, good work Sergeant…” Said I, after finishing it.

Jamie looked at me with his live green eye. “There has been too much death. And too many dead.” He said, like he magically understood my feelings.

“Yeah. Good you’re not among them, kid.” I told him.

“And you too, Sarge.”

“Heh… Sometimes I feel like I am among them.”


	4. Pvt. Martin and Sgt. Evans, 1944

The next day we were communicated that there were still some rogue Italian troops around this area, even though most of them were killed and the war already lost. Italy switched sides in the middle of the war, but apparently none told them. The soldiers were ready to die since they had nothing to lose. We had to stop our work to be on guard, reporting on our situation and the situation around us for almost a week. We were occupying a former Italian HQ in a small town near Treviso. It was a few hundred miles from Venice, and it was a great place for an intel post. After about five days, we were asked to resume work because the threat had supposedly been avoided. Ed suspects that we never were in trouble to begin with, and I had to agree with him. Our HQ liked to pretend that what we did was a real job, and a important one. And there were troops that believed him, they had to keep the illusion.

“Guess what’s for dinner?” Said Ed. He wasn’t smiling, like usually.

“Beans?”

“That’s right, fucking beans.”

Our supplies were provided through weekly patrols from the soldiers remaining in the area. Our basic needs were taken care of, even if poorly. There was not a lot to eat. Sometimes there was salty meat, some soup, and there were a few chicken around the village next to the HQ. But it was mostly canned beans. I got used to it, but Edward hated it.

“Back to work.” Said he, entering his cabin.

“Don’t leave your letters to me, again.” I replied. He was very behind on the letters. Most of the time he just slept, and when he read some of the more gruesome reports, he would get sick of it and avoid reading for a couple of hours. Behind his tough attitude, Ed was a fairily sensible guy. Jamie was doing well. He had a few bad ones, but nothing seemed to get to him.

After eating I lit a my cigarrete and grabbed the next letter. My eyes got wider when I saw the date. It seemed to be ripped off a diary or something.

_Outskirts of Ste Mere-Eglise – France  
June 5, 1944  
Pvt. Martin_

_In about three hours I will be in Normandy. As one of the pathfinders for my unit, I'll be landing ahead of the main airborne force. The pathfinders land before the main force and place beacons on the landing fields, to guide the rest of the pilots and paratroopers in. The brass are sending the airborne in first, in the early hours of the morning, to protect the flanks of Utah beach. At first light the main force of the invasion will hit the beaches. For weeks the entire invasion force, more than 175,000 men, has been cooped up, and forbidden contract with anyone outside, with nothing to do but memorize maps and battle plans. We're all quite eager to be in France. A few hours ago General Eisenhower paid us a visit. If we pull all this off, the Germans are in for one hell of a surprise._

I sighed relieved. It wasn’t the beach invasion. I was full of desperate reports from that day, but I realized I shouldn’t be relieved. Every part of this damned war was terrible. The next part was written on a few mashed sheets, different from the one before. It seems that it was the aftermath of the operation.

_I jumped out of the plane with Sgt. Heath, but it was so dark I couldn’t find keep track of where he was. When I hit the ground, he was nowhere to be seen. I had to choose between the M1A1 Carbine and the Thompson before jumping, and because I’m not exactly the best shot, I choose the machine gun. It was with it that I eliminated German patrols around the place I landed. I had to find Sgt. Heath and call in the rest of the units. I found him soon after. But unfortunately he was hanging from a tree, dead, with the radio beacon dropped on the floor. Sgt. Heath was a good man, but I had no time to waste. I quickly set up the radio beacon and activated it on an empty field next to a farmhouse. I was lucky the planes were already on their way, they didn’t take too long to arrive. The sirens started as the German Flak Guns started shooting at the sky._

_Nobody seems to have dropped where they were supposed to. I haven't seen anyone from my unit yet, but luckily I've hooked up with some guys from Baker Company. We also have men from Able, Dog, and Fox Companies with us . . . what a mess. As soon as they started landing we immediately invaded the farm house occupied by the germans, and regrouped with Cpt. Foley, who luckily landed near. The village of Ste. Mere-Eglise was crowded with Germans. They had MG42s set on a church near the entry of the village, and we had to hit the dirt to avoid taking fire. After flanking them we could really start taking the village, house by house. After we took the church, the village started falling apart. We finally found the Flakpanzers which were giving us so much trouble. Cpt. Foley ordered me and a couple of others to blow them up, which we did. When the village was ours, Cpt. Foley alerted us that the Germans would try to retake it as soon as possible, so we had to take defensive positions and use their own weapons against them._

‘A different approach to the landings on Normandy, heh? Better than horror stories.’ I thought as I grabbed the next letter, from the same guy. Once again, the first part was from a diary…

_Ste. Mere-Eglise, France  
June 6, 1944  
Pvt. Martin_

_The boys on the beaches must have landed by now. They are only a few miles away, but right now that seems like a million. We don't have a radio and are completely cut off. Cpt. Foley was right. We did face a platoon or more German paratroopers when we took this village last night. Today we hold it against German counterattack. Our defenses are all stolen: enemy MG42s Panzerfausts for anti tank defense and the village itself. The Air Force and Navy put on quite a show this morning pounding the hell out of these beaches. One thing is certain, the Germans know we are here. Whether that means they turn tail and run or come swarming out of the wood work we are about to find out._

…and the rest was about the day itself.

_One of the most desperate days of my life. That’s how I can describe it. It all started in the morning, when we were bombarded by the German’s mortars. They were destroying the buildings and all, trying to eliminate us like we were vermin. The church we took last day was holding due to the enemy’s MG42s, but the attack on the front was brutal. When the first Tiger appeared, I saw a couple of men panic. Cpt. Foley’s orders were what kept me focused. I took one of the Panzerfaust weapons from the church were we left them and blew it up. The other tanks were taken care of by the others. There was no time for relief. Pvt. Parker informed Cpt. Foley that they found the location of the mortars, and he asked me and a couple of guys to go take them out, while the rest kept holding the church. We found a well guarded manor at the south of the village, were they were hiding. We took them out from a distance. I was even offered a Springfield, but kept using my Thompson, getting closer to the enemies._

_Sgt. Moody and Pvt. Elder came a little later driving a vehicle with battery still intact they found on the village, and Cpt. Foley gave them the next task: Since we didn’t have a radio, we would have to deliver a request for reinforcements to Maj. Sheppard. Sgt. Moody required one more passanger, and choose me. He was a bit of a brute. We drove for six miles, fending off German soldiers by the dozens. Sgt. Moody drove fast, and the adrenaline made the time fly, but there were more German I could count. I would put my body outside the window and shoot with my Thompson with very little aim. It worked as well as it could, I’m still alive. We arrived at the HQ and waited in the car for Sgt. Moody, while he delivered the orders. I finally could be relieved, at least for sometime._

Next one:

_Brecourt Manor, France  
June 6, 1944  
Pvt. Martin_

_Battalion headquarters is a mess. As the companies are way under strength due to misdrops everywhere. Hopefully Foley knows what he is doing cause I don't think we're going to be getting much help from here. Meanwhile we already have a new mission. A German artillery battery a few miles north of here has just opened fire on the beaches.The CO wants it silenced and he picked us to do it. We're going in without air or artillery support and way outnumbered, but that seems par for the course at this point._

And the resolution:

_The day was far from over, I was wrong to be relieved. The guns we had to blow up were killing our boys, we didn’t have much time to loose. Again under the command of Sgt. Moody, we took the route from the trenches and eliminated most of the squads next to the first artillery. Sgt. Moody had the charges, so he blew it up. But when he found a medic too scared to do its duty, the sergeant took it upon himself to take the medic next to the wounded on the ground. Sgt. Moody was hit at the middle of the way. The medic was dead, but the sergeant could jump back to the trenches before he would too. He was injured on the leg, but it wasn’t too ugly, or said he. He then gave me the charges and I had to blow up the remaining artillery guns. It was no easy task, but it had to be done. Even the wounded sergeant was giving covering fire, and after storming a manor near the last gun, I blew it up. Maybe now we can rest, just maybe…_

Since there were more letters from Martin, I suppose they couldn’t rest for much longer. But instead I grabbed another letter, this one on a better paper. It was from another british guy.

 _Benouville, France_  
June 6, 1944  
Sgt. Evans

_This is top secret. I intend for none to read this letter, but I’m writing it for my own mental sake. My comanding officer is Cpt. Price. We had perhaps one of the most important missions during the D-Day: Holding the bridge. The eastern front of the beaches would be sucetible to counter-attacks from Jerries. We had to secure key bridges in order to cut that off. We would land in the darkness of the night and take the bridge, then hold it off until morning. The landing already would have terrified anyone, but not us. We were trained for this. We came using a plane, which was supposed to make a subtle landing on the forest nearby the bridge. However, due to miscalculations, the plane nearly crashed. It didn’t attarct much attention, luckily, and we were able to reach the bridge farily unoticed. The fight was intense, we were working against the clock to secure it, and they even had Tigers. But once again luck was on our side. They had a Flak gun on our side of the bridge, which I used to destroy the tank. With the bridge secured, we would have to hold it long enough for reinforcements, but that would be proven to be the hardest part._

_At dawn of the next day, Cpt. Price explained the plan of defense: We would have to use Jerry weapons scattered around the area, as well as Panzerfausts and the Flak to hold the line of the brigde. He explained that we would be attacked by all sides, since the enemy already knew we were there. We were awfully outnumbered and our reinforcements would take a while to arrive. The counter-attack hit at about half past noon, and was aggressive. First they came from the west side, a lot of infantry. We could hold them off, until one of the lads heard Tigers coming from the other side of the river. It was a desperate run to the Flak gun, but I managed to use it to destroy a couple of those tanks. But Cpt. Price saved me. He pulled me from the Flak gun before it was destroyed by a tank that was not im my field of vision. We and the others hid in a bunker near the bridge, and I used the panzerfaust to destroy the final Tiger. We were almost getting overrun by their infantry, but our reinforcements arrived at the last moment. Mission accomplished._

“Well, Sgt. Evans” Said I, lighting my second cigarrete in a row. “I don’t know how your ‘top secret’ letter to yourself got here, but I suppose you did try to send it to someone afterwards. Glad it was me who found it.”


	5. Sgt. Evans and Pvt. Martin, 1944

_Bavarian Alps, Germany  
August 7, 1944  
Pvt. Martin_

_Due to our success on defending Ste. Mere-Eglise and destroying the artillery battery in Brecourt Manor, part of our unit (including me, Sgt. Moody and Cpt. Foley) was relocated for some ‘special’ missions behind enemy lines. lt seems that a couple of British officers, a Captain Price and a Major Ingram, were shot down over enemy territory. I don't know who these guys are but they must be pretty important, or know something pretty important cause Army intelligence has decided to parachute us into. Austria to rescue them.Intelligence sources say the officers are being held in a Chateau in the Bavarian Alps. We've stolen a German truck, hidden it near by, and are approaching the Chateau on foot._

“Oh… Price and Ingram?” I looked at the past letters, a bit surprised. Maj. Ingram was featured in Sgt. Doyle’s letters and Cpt. Price was in Sgt. Evans’. It wasn’t that common to have letters that shared officers. I enjoyed that a lot. “Let’s see the resolution then…”

_Sgt. Moody scouted the area and found a big german manor were the Officers were probably located in, but there were two bunkers guarded before we reached it. Cpt. Foley lead our quick assault on the the bunkers, but by the time we got to the manor, they were already alerted of our presence. I had a BAR machine gun with me. When invading the manor, Cpt. Foley and Sgt. Moody started looking for the prisoners, and instructed the rest of the team to look for important enemy documents and radio equipment. Which we managed to do it, even if the communications room was hidden behind a fake door. We destroyed the radio and ran to meet back with Cpt. Foley, who had found the basement were they held the prisoners. Our assault was quick, and we managed to get to the cell, but only Cpt. Price was there. He was very wounded, but the old man held the enemy MP40 without a care, helping us secure his own escape. Fortunately Maj. Ingram wasn’t dead, and Price overheard were he would be._

“And the captain survived, I’m sure I will meet him again.” I said out loud, as usual. Jamie didn’t even care anymore, he would just smile.

_Dulag IIIA – Strasshof, Austria  
September 18, 1944  
Pvt. Martin_

_It seems the Germans moved Major Ingram of the British RAF before we could nab him from the chateau. Captain Price says he overheard the guards saying he had been moved to a camp near here. Price pinpointed the camp for us, but Captain Foley insisted that he stay behind during the actual rescue. Our plan is simple. We are busting right through the gate, grabbing the Major and hightailing it out of there. Foley says the only way we can pull this off is if we spend no more than ten minutes in the camp. Otherwise the Jerries are going to have the entire area locked down looking for us._

“You are starting to talk like the British, Martin.” Said I, after reading the word “Jerries”.

_Cpt. Foley was in the stolen truck, with the rest of the team in the back, waiting for me. My mission was to eliminate the guards at the front gate, then they would ram the truck at the entrance and begin the assault. I was pretty nervous about it. They had given me a Springfield so I could take out the guards from the distance, and a Thompson for the assault. My aim wasn’t that good, so I improvised. From the longest distance I took out the German near the MG42, and the run at the with my Thompson. It worked, and I heard the alarm. Few moments later, all turned into caos. The truck droven by Cpt. Foley smashed through the gates and all the soldiers started advancing through the prison killing Germans left and right. The captain stayed and guarded the escape vehicle, and I went with Sgt. Moody searching the prison cells. It was a big space, with many houses holding the prisoners. By dividing our forces we would search more ground, but in less numbers we were kinda vulnerable to the counter-attack. Four men lost their lives before we could find Maj. Ingram. He was a tough old man, just like Price. As soon as we got the his prison cell, he was already choking the key holder. Apparently he used the confusion to try and escape. There was not much time left, the Germans were filling up the place, so we ran like never before. The escape was a success, although I hope the Major’s life was important. We lost four men._

‘Ranks were merely an arbitrary way to organize our hierarchy.’ I thought, ‘I never liked hierarchies. My comanding officers were all arrogant pieces of shit, but they always did their job. Maybe the military is for piece of shit people. Maybe I am a piece of shit. Well, reading pieces of shit killing nazis is always entertaining.’ I said, as I reached for the next letter. ‘Back with Sgt. Evans and Cpt. Price’, I thought, after reading a bit.

_Eder Dam, Germany  
September 2, 1944  
Sgt. Evans_

_Me and Cpt. Price were transferred to the SAS, the british Special Air Service, due to our actions at the pegasus bridge, and our missions got even harder. We had to infiltrate the Dam, destroy the anti-aircraft guns and the power generator, so that our bombers can crack open that dam, and then drive until an airfield. The only problem was that we couldn’t land nearby due to the Flaks, so we hadto go by ground, in only a small team of three. Me, Cpt. Price and Sgt. Waters, a veteran from SAS. The rest of the team waited on the airfield, securing our escape plane. We divided our objectives, Waters would set charges on the Flak guns from one side while Cpt. Price would set charges for the other side, and then they would regroup and secure a vehicle for our escape. My job was to set charges on the power generator. When all three were set, we would blow them up at the same time. I infiltrated the power station quietly, avoiding enemy patrols outside, Sgt. Waters would deal with them. I meet resistence inside the station, but managed to locate the generator after dealing with them and finding a shortcut. I got out and found both already done, waiting for me with a stolen lorry. We got in and directed for the exit of the place, not after blowing up those charges. The race to the airfield was desperate. After the explosion the Jerries followed us for a long while, I had to use the panzerfausts on the truck to keep them away. We reached the airfield with Jerries on our heels, but the rest of the team helped us secure the place. The enemy had Fw 200s at their disposal, so before we escaped, I took control of one of the Flak guns and destroyed most of those planes. We got out of there before reinforcements arrived._

_Battleship Tirpitz - Hakoya, Norway_   
_October 27, 1944_   
_Sgt. Evans_

_Cpt. Price was a great soldier, a great commander, and a great man._

_It was us three again: Sgt. Waters, Cpt. Price and me. Our mission was to set up charges on the engines of the ship, destroy their radar systems and retrieve the naval log. We managed to intercept a boat and get in, dressing up as Jerry officers. Cpt. Price had the best German, so he did the talking. We entered the ship and went down the ladders, stopping at the armory. When a Jerry got suspicious of the fake ID Price had, the captain killed him, and we started to set our plan in motion. Grabbing the enemies’ MP40s from the armory we separated as usual. Sgt. Waters would set the charges on the engine, while Cpt. Price and I would get to the Commanding bridge to destroy the radar and steal the logs, then secure our escape. I was careless, I didn’t think there would be so many Jerries awake. When we finally found the bridge, we got overrun by the Jerries. Cpt. Price saved me one last time. He closed the door behind him, giving enough time for me to shoot the radar and get the naval logs. I never saw his body. When I got to the escape location, Sgt. Waters was already there on the boat, he had a wound on his arm. We managed to escape in time and blow up the engines of the ship, sinking it. At least Cpt. Price’s death wasn’t in vain._

“I will mourn him today, Sgt. Evans. Good job.” Said I, after finishing reading. It was getting late, I spent too much time reading, my eyes hurt. But I couldn’t stop now. Jamie was to the other side of the table, he looked tired. “How ‘bout you go to bed, Jamie?”

“Yeah Sarge, I think I will. And you?”

“Just a few more.”

“You really enjoy this work, eh, Sarge? Careful not let it get to you too much, sir.”


End file.
